


.A Good Cry.

by TuesdayTerrible



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha!Mycroft, Alpha!Sherlock, Angst, Basically, Dom Mycroft, Dom Sherlcok, Dom/sub, F/M, Its just a lot of smut, Knotting, Omegaverse, Porn With Plot, Rope Bondage, Spanking, Sub Molly, TriggerWarning, omega!molly, selfinjury
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-10 10:52:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4388975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TuesdayTerrible/pseuds/TuesdayTerrible
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Time to take your suppressant, Miss Hooper.” He says softly before extending her a card with his name, and a handful of numbers.</p>
<p>	“You may use that when you are in need of a good cry.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Omega-verse. Period.   
> Initially this wasn't even suppose to be Omega-verse.  
> But I think it works out better this way.  
> I should forewarn you that there will be a lot of emotional psychology laced through out these sexual experiences that you may or may not choose to see.  
> I hope you enjoy the ride.

Molly only had her DNA to blame, she realized. 

Molly had known she was an Omega from a time she was young. She was even younger when the physician told her parents that Molly was different. Her heat would come much sooner and much harder than the average Omega's. Her parents had looked at each other completely forlorn considering standard heat was bordering inhumane. 

“Why? What do we do?” Her father had asked, his fingers locked with the hands of her mother, his bond mate, his lover, his wife. 

“Your daughter-” The doctor is flushed as he rubs the back of his neck clearly uncomfortable. 'Your daughter is, because her bodies desire to seek out a potential mate, and at such a young age...the way I see it....your daughter will.......” he coughed nervously. “She'll breed more like an animal than a person. Shes extremely fertile. Alphas would want to take advantage of her for that, at her age? I suggest we doctor everything. Soaps. Shots. Suppressants. Everything, to keep her safe, at least until she comes of age.”

And so Omega Molly Hooper, became Beta Molly Hooper.

Except when she entered adulthood that hadn't changed. 

Her physician had warned her, in her early twenties, a hand over hers. The same man, except much older now, hired specifically by Molly's family- paid for even after her father's passing- looked her in the eyes and would tell her the news, she now knew to be true.

“It will only get worse Molly.” his voice was cracking and this time not with embarrassment but with pain. “The suppressants wont be able to stop your heats completely anymore. It will, dull them significantly but functioning will be...hard. The stronger alphas may smell you no matter what. And, I don't know if anything will be able to satisfy your need Molly. Try...try to find a bond mate soon. A decent Alpha before he realizes how special you are, biologically and...otherwise.” 

She had smiled giving his hand a squeeze and trying to assure him, that she'll be fine.

And she was, she was fine for a long time. She had even, mostly survived Sherlock. But, she had turned 31 this year and given the type of Omega she was, she was hurting. 

Not just emotionally, but she was in physical pain. She ached. She had tried dating Betas, she was engaged to one for a bit thinking, maybe, just maybe it could work. And most of them were kind, even if they were so dreadfully boring, they were nice to her- the sex was...well there was a lot of it- but it was so bloody unsatisfying it made her want to cry. 

Now there was Sherlock- the alpha of her desires, the alpha who had no desires other than to run around London, his mind revving like a race car. And oh, how she adored him. It had taken an ungodly amount of time, but she thought they had finally got around to be friends. Proper friends. And she thought, (like an idiot) she thought she counted. He had said as much hadn't he?

You're wrong. You do count.

But he was wrong.

Or she was wrong to cling to a sentiment he had shared over two years ago.

It wasnt until John brought him into her lab, looking like death warmed over, informing her she needed to drug test him. He had done so many drugs she hadn't even needed to run a test, all she had to do was look at his pale clammy skin, and dark sunken eyes and she'd known. She could smell it- his scent of cigarettes, aftershave, and traces of pine was completely tampered with. He smelled bitter somehow. So she hadn't needed to run the test- even though she did, even though she desperately hoped she would be wrong. She'd known before the results even showed up as clear and unmistakably as they had. 

“Clean?” She had said, and she briefly wondered if John was an idiot. His scents as a beta were weaker, she could understand why he couldn't scent him like she could. She was drawn to Sherlcok, but how could he not see the brilliant shadow of a man before them? 

The pain she had felt had hidden behind anger and clawed her way up through her muscles smacking him painfully across his face, not once, not twice but three times. She had poured everything into those hits. 

“How dare you betray the beautiful gift you were born with. And how dare you betray the love of your friends? Say your sorry.”

How could you betray /me/? The Omega in her asked. What more can I do? Id do it.

“Sorry your engagements over. Though, I'm fairly grateful for a lack of a ring.”

“Stop it. Just...stop it.” 

He had known Tom wasn't going to work out just as well as she had. Though, he probably thought it was just because of him (not because he wasn't an alpha and her needs just weren't being met, not even a little, not even in the slightest.) It was that night she had realized, she had run out of tears.

She never had any misconceptions about crying, it was healthy she had always said, a healthy way of releasing tension, of erasing the pain. Now, she didn't go around sobbing at every little thing, mind you. But she had spent a handful of times hidden away in her office shedding more than a couple tears over Sherlock.

But now she couldn't do it. And the pain, coupled with the emptiness, left Molly feeling hollow and unbearably sad.

She was 31 years old, unbonded, and had never knotted. Probably would never knot with anyone. She wouldn't even know how to go about finding a proper alpha who didn't flinch at her intellect or want her merely to 'pup' her. She winced at the thought. She wanted a proper family, what was so terrible about that? 

She had ached and tried and yearned and she wasn't sure how she could alleviate the problem. She had no idea how to get what she wanted, let alone get over the only Alpha who had ever, probably would ever catch her interest. The only one who thought that maybe, she was interesting, who thought maybe she was worthwhile. 

She hates him for making her hope. 

It's with that thought she misses the tumor she's suppose to be cutting out of Alexandria and slices her finger. It's not to deep, no more than a couple inches deep and most importantly- her blood missed the brain entirely. It isn't until she throws her gloves away, washes, disinfects, and bandages her finger does she realize some of the ache within her has become muted, almost like...background noise.

It's alarming how much better she feels.

.

It hadn't meant to become a habit. Molly was a practical, cautious woman, and while she was willing to risk her career to save Sherlock's life by faking his death- she certainly was going to risk her career by putting her scalpel to her skin. No, it would be such a waste for a few days of silence in her funny little brain of hers.

But when Lestrade accidentally lets slip that Sherlock had been shot and was almost killed, twice. Well, Molly cant seem to breathe. The pain is so overwhelming she clutches her chest and falls forward. Greg catches her of course, eyes wide, and a fumble of apologies. 

She hears a “I thought you knew- Molly. Molly you have to breathe.” 

She hears herself sob and it's like a train-wreck from the stories of his sex life in the papers, to his actual life having almost ended does she realize she's so inconsequential to him that he couldn't have been bothered- that even John couldn't have bothered to just...

“He's a liar.” She breathes, and it's a choked, strangled, inhuman sound as she clutches Greg desperately, fingers tearing into his arms. “I don't count.”

And still. Her tears do not fall despite the feeling of her lungs crushing in on themselves. She shoves Greg away with a force she didn't know she had and rolls into herself as if that- whatever that was hadn't happened. 

“I'm fine, I'm sorry. God that was so, so silly.” and she tries to slap on a smile but it literally pains her to do it- and he for one second isn't buying it. But she can tell by the look on his face, he's going to let her. He's going to let her pretend.

Oh, small mercies

It isn't until Greg leaves does she make a small three inch deep incision on her arm, just above her elbow, and she watches with a sick interest as the blood flows over and down the pale of her skin, her worries flowing away with each little current. 

And so the habit begins as she had been told by Sherlock, (in a means to insult her she remembers) “You cant kill an idea. Once it's made a home, right there.” 

.

It's two weeks after she see's Moriarty's return video on the tv screen does Sherlock and John come stalking into her lab carrying himself in his larger than life alpha way and smelling like sin. Her core thrums with life at the sight of him- its been almost two months since she saw him, and the last time she had- she had slapped him. 

He pauses sniffing the air, and she freezes, wondering if his presence had been enough to cause her true scent to sneak through. She breathes deeply trying to calm herself. No, she hadn't. She'd been great about taking her pills every six hours (her body burned them up much faster than it use to, determined to get her with child- a constant reminder of her ticking clock) 

She watched his eyes ghost over her, and she can almost see the words he's associating with her popping up wildly, her lack of make up- the way her hair is parted, the look in her eyes as she's seeing him for the first time. It isn't until she starts imagining all the things he's capable of does her body respond, the slightly raised scars on her arm seemingly pushing against the fabric of her lab coat.

He'll deduce it, stupid girl. And any respect he had for you, if he ever had any at all is going to be gone!

“Molly.” he says crisply his baritone making her wanton and anxious. Its an awful way to feel. 

“Yes?” She manages to squeak out, torn between the animal instinct of fight or flight. 

 

Stay the Omega in her orders.  
Run cautions her cognitive thoughts

But the Omega wins as it often does in regards to Sherlock and she stands still waiting for him to tell her whatever his deduction is.

“You're aware I was shot.” He says slowly, and she wonders why he's putting so much emphasis into those four words as if he thinks his deduction was somehow going to be incorrect.

“Yes.” she says and she cant hear how begging that one word sounds, begging for him to explain himself as to why she couldn't have been bothered to even be informed. 

“You weren't aware of it when you brought in for questioning about my bolt holes.” 

“No.” She smiles, and it hurts, but she doesn't think he'll be able to tell, and even he does. There's a difference between seeing someones pain and caring about it. “That would have been classified of course.” 

He smiles softly at her statement, and its so, kind she wants to bathe in his affection. It's brief and fleeting and it makes the omega in her want to wrap herself up in it. 

“Greg then?” He says finally putting his sample under the scope, wrapping up their conversation. 

“mm” she says knowing his attention on her has drawn to a close. It's a noncommittal sound but it signifies the yes. “I'll leave you to it.” she says softly, before her eyes meet Johns briefly as she walks past him.

“Molly.” John says and she thinks he means to apologize for not telling her maybe. Or something Greg had told him about her reaction, but as his hand grasps her arm the kind gesture is lost and she winces at the contact despite herself before pulling out of his grasp with the ferocity he hasn't seen since she slapped Sherlock. 

“Don't.” she hisses. “Just don't.” 

She bolts out of the lab and locks herself in her office, trying to swallow down the bulge in her throat. 

She hopes if Sherlock's deducing that it has to deal with the fact that John didn't say anything to her and not the fact she thought maybe if his gaze had lingered any longer he'd feel the scars beneath her lap coat, or the fear that he may open a more recent injury.

.

 

The following day she is called into the morgue specifically under Mycroft Holmes orders. 

She's standing over a body that hadn't seemed like anything to spectacular, she had already checked it off her list earlier that day, a pretty straight forward death, collapsed lung, the only thing suspicious was the skin cells under his fingernails were not his own, in fact they weren't even alive..,But nothing that required a government official. But apparently the man, Mark Sloane had been worth something because Mycroft simply didn't do “leg work” according to Sherlock. He was above all of that. 

She remembered he had been here once before on Christmas to look over the body of the supposed Irene Adler. Her interaction with Mycroft were almost non-existent in person. He accepted her roll in his brothers faked death, and was he reason she was even able to work at Barts still honestly. But truth be told she hadn't seen the man since they were around the corpse of “Irene”. She remembered the way he had only briefly glanced at the body, his eyes trained on Sherlock.

He barely even spared a look at Molly even as she had asked him,“How did Sherlock recognize her from- erm- not her face?”

He had grimaced and turned away leaving Molly with the rotting feeling of jealousy. She's appalled that she feels the same way now as she stares down at the body.

It's the only way I'll be interesting. She thinks to herself. Is if some psychopath carves me up for Sherlock to look at here in the morgue. 

“It's Moriarty.” He says slowly. “Collapsed lung Molly?”

“Yes. And under his fingernails he had-”

“Skin cells belonging to someone other than himself-”

“Skin cells belonging to someone who is deceased.” Molly interrupts. “Unfortunately whomever is deceased hasn't been through our morgue so...”

She doesn't get another word out before Sherlock is storming out of the morgue, his coat flying behind him. She feels another rush of pain, an ache that goes bone deep at his departure and she bites on her lip trying to stiffle the urge to whine.

“Miss Hooper.” 

The voice is crisp and firm almost like a whip crack and she snaps her head up, wondering if she looks as bewildered as she feels. 

“Yes, sorry?” She says tucking a piece of brown hair behind her ears that had fallen loose from her pony tail. “I should erm, put him back yes? Is there something that you-?”

She says finally meeting eyes with the man in front of her. It's the first time she really looks at him she realizes. He's well tailored and lean, but his eyes that had shown nothing but indifference before seemed wide suddenly as if he were shocked. She licks her lips self consciously, what on earth could he be?

“You're bleeding Dr. Hooper.” 

Her heart thunders in her chest and she knows exactly where to look but she doesn't instead she stares at him blankly, “I'm...bleeding?” Idiot. She chastises herself. 

“Just, there.” he says pointing to a thin line of blood that has formed on her white lab coat. 

There's something unreadable about his expression that makes Molly shudder just a bit. 

“T-thank you. I guess I better. Go see....after I uhm clean this up of course.” She says gesturing towards the body. Her heart is racing in her chest as he leans forward and grasps her forearm with a slight squeeze over the corpse. 

“I know what you are.” his voice is a low whisper “And I know what you've done.” 

She can feel a chill crawling it's way up her spine, and she literally has to swallow the proverbial knot in her throat before she can manage a “What?”

“You're an omega, for starters, and all those suppressants and beta toxins do next to nothing to hide your true nature. How you ever pass for a even weak beta is beyond me.”

“Than Sherlock-”

“No, Miss Hooper. My brother is rather, slow.” and here he pauses to smile, and it looks positively sinister and drawls another shiver of fear down her back. “And the rest of the world. Pah. Well, they're goldfish isn't hard to fool any of them.” 

“You..” she blinked shaking her head as she stared at him, “You truly think, people, normal minded people are- you think I'm?” She always assumed her stutter stemmed from attraction since she fumbled over herself so much with Sherlock, apparently she is also completely inarticulate when she's angry.

“No.” Mycroft says cutting her off with the wave of a hand. “No...you aren't a goldfish. Though I'm afraid what I would compare you to is about as insulting.”

She swallows back a bit of her disdain. “So what if I'm an omega?” she says finally. “It's not unethical to not make that information known. It's..it's private, and what I did for Sherlock in the fall that was much more..”

“Yes, yes” Mycroft says dismissively. “That's not what I was referring too” 

And she knows she shouldn't ask but before she can stop herself, the words come spilling out. “Than what do you know?”

“I know you're sexually frustrated and that you have never been knotted much to your dismay. I know you haven't been able to cry in five months and your biological make-up has sent you spiraling into a inhumane depression that you are currently trying to alleviate with cutting.” He pauses a smug little smirk on his face. “Though I have a feeling the relief is getting shorter isnt it?” 

She feels faint and she grips the cool metal slab Mr. Sloane is on to keep herself upright. Oh how she wishes she could switch places with him right now.

“How could you even know all that?” her voice is shaking, and her gaze is turned to the cold deceased man on the table. 

“Your scent. Your tear ducks. Five months between your penting sexual frustrations, and Sherlock's consistent dismal of you rather real or projected I cant pretend to understand completely how a mind like yours works- And the cutting itself is obvious in the pattern of the blood on your lab coat and an incident regarding John Watson yesterday.”

He sighs as if explaining these things to her had wasted not only his time, but his energy. He lifts up his slender wrist to glance at his watch before his gaze falls on to hers. 

“So what are you going to do about it?” She says finally, shoulders hunched completely resigned.

She can smell the alpha rolling off him, dormant almost, seeping from somewhere much deeper than his physical presence and it's erotic and terrifying at the same time. She turns her eyes to meet his and he smiles, and she swears its positively sadistic and her core thrums with something- a spike of adrenaline, a clenching of muscles, a release of endorphins. 

“Time to take your suppressant, Miss Hooper.” He says softly before extending her a card with his name, and a handful of numbers.

“You may use that when you are in need of a good cry.” 

He pauses his umbrella tapping the floor, once, twice, and she's spinning around to face him as he stands perfectly posed at the double door.

“Wha- what if I need a good cry?” She says desperately. “Right now.”

He smiles and this time, she thinks maybe, its a little more sincere. 

“Than, Miss Hooper, you are indeed in the company of the right man.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for its length.  
> Or lack there of.  
> Smut ensues below.  
> Enjoy.  
> Or dont.   
> Im not going to pretend to know what your kinks are.  
> XO

Chapter 2

She exits Bart's two hours later after her (could you even call that a conversation?) with Mycroft Holmes. She had been prepared to take off than and there and was ready to tell him as much but he held up a hand, and gestured to the body in front of her. 

“I am nothing if not a patient man Miss Hooper. There will be a car outside for you when you get off. It would be unwise to not get in it.” 

And without another word he had left her and the former Mr. Sloane alone in the morgue.

Sure enough the car sat outside the building, a young woman was poised against the back door over the car, holding it open with her back. Her eyes never even bothering to look up from her blackberry as she spoke. “ Get in.”

She smelled like alpha and apples and Molly frowned despite herself. “Where's Mycroft?”

The woman paused her eyes drifting upwards to peer at her over her from her blackberry devise. 

“You aren't going to make me say it again, are you?” 

So she takes a seat inside the back of the car and scoots all the way to the far end to make room for the woman who might as well be infused with her blackberry. She looks like a female version of Mycroft- Molly thinks as she studies the expensive blouse and black pencil skirt..

She doesn't have long to wonder where are they going as the woman opens the door for her, and Molly see's they are in fact standing in her flat. She stares at the building wondering if there has been a mistake, but as she turns around to ask the car is already driving off.

'Odd' Molly thought, biting the inside of her cheek to keep the disappointment at bay. 

So when she unlocks her flat and turns on the lights to reveal Mycroft Holmes sitting on her couch, she physically jumps despite herself.

“Don't tell me he got lock picking from you.” She says the words stumbling ungracefully out of her mouth, her hand clutching her chest- 

“Be still my beating heart” Mycroft mocks rolling his eyes at her inferior gesture. “Surely Miss Hooper even you should have been able to deduce that Id be here.” 

She lowers her hand slowly and studies the man before her, his expensive suit clashes against her terribly modest couch, and yet somehow, the man has seemed to make himself right at home.

“Your house smells very much like that of a Betas. But why?” He muses, inhaling deeply. 

And Molly finds herself stumbling over herself embarrassingly. “Your brother actually...after the fall it became clear to me he would be here, and well, knowing Sherlock I knew no room or space would be off limits so...” 

“And all this time, you keep your home like this just in case he should need to pop in. Your home is denied of the very essence of you, Miss Hooper. Its such a shame, you smell quite delectable too.” 

She takes a shaky step forward, and his eyes, glacier cold, send a silent warning in her direction. Though, Molly doesn't have the slightest what he is warning her from, and the omega in her dares her to find out.

Test him the little gland whispers in her hand. For all you know he's all talk- how do you know this alpha is even worthy?

So she steps forward.

He growls. It is low, and surprisingly clean, not at all guttural like you would imagine from an alpha. A low rumble that makes the hair of her arms stand on end. She swallows the panic and she pauses as she leans forwards just a bit, just one more step...

“I did not tell you to move.” 

And his voice comes out crisp and calm only frayed with suppressed anger. It is not at all alpha hormones but a controlled deliberate burn. Like dry ice, her conscious brain supplied. He is dry ice. He rises to a stand as most alphas do, towering over her as he makes a slow deliberate circle around her and panic swells in her chest and her thighs clench unconsciously, warmth pooling in her belly from just the small act of dominance alone.

“You will call me sir.” He says slowly, deliberately. “Let me hear you.”

An the deeper darker part of Molly doesn't even hesitate. This is exactly what she needs. Release. Whatever kind he is willing to give her. She needs it, she craves it, and even her conscious mind cant argue a reason not too. Make him happy. 

“Yes sir.” 

The smile that creeps across his face is smug, and she finds it is a much better look on him than the sinister one he usually graces her with. He walks away from her, and because he does not call or gesture. She does not move, even though, she very, very much wants too.

He takes a seat back towards the middle of the couch, his eyes flickering towards her window.

“I have tentative things to discuss with you Miss Hooper. Your verbal agreement is all that is needed at this particular moment since you are a heartbeat from unraveling but most importantly, I like things, my way, as all Alphas do.” His gaze turns to her now, eyes burning with something darker, much darker than lust. 

“You must have a safe word. And you are only to use that safe word, should you be prepared for things to end completely.”

“Yes sir.” she says and it is just then that she notices that her leg is trembling subtly beneath her.

“I will choose your safe word.” He continues. “Your safe word is Sherlock.” 

The sound of his name coming from Mycrofts lips is so deliciously painful she wants to sob. She takes an involuntary step backwards and Mycroft smiles so wide he exposes a row of perfectly white teeth. 

“Is that acceptable Miss Hooper? Give it to me if it is. Your safe word.”

He's doing this on purpose. She thinks, pain thrumming in her chest as she regains her footing before giving a solid nod. “Sherlock.” she repeats even though her voice trembles with unshed tears. Her conscious minds reels in the feeling of her distorted vision- it isn't crying- but it is a promise. It is pin drop away from relief and he's not even started.

“Crawl to me.” He says patting his lap, and Molly slowly sinks to her knees. 

It is degrading. It is shameful. It is everything she needs, and as she crawls from her doorway to in front of the couch- her heart races and pounds with adrenaline. She is mortified and she is aroused. She is hopeful and she is devastated, and she doesn't even understand how she can be so many things at one time. 

He gestures towards her to rise and she does standing before him, her legs are jello beneath her- and he appreciates that sentiment though he's probably never shared it, not once in his entire life. 

“Strip.” his voice is soft and firm, completely at ease and she wonders how many partners he has taken to bed. She wouldn't have imagined many, but the way he controls her with ease makes her thinks perhaps she is mistaken. She supposes it doesn't even matter as she raises her jumper above her head, followed by her bra, her pants and...

“Stop.” he says as she moves her fingers to the elastic of her panties. “Leave them on, now on your stomach, across my lap.” When she doesn't move immediately he raises his voice, just an octave above calm and says “NOW.” 

She all but flies herself across him shifting so her knees touch the side of his thigh, her stomach brushes over his clothed erection and she sighs, the omega in her comforted by the fact he is in fact enjoying her. 

His left hand comes to rest on the small of her back, trailing down to the curve of her bottom, and Molly has to bite her lower lip to keep from saying stop. If he continues down any farther he'll see how embarrassingly wet she is. And she's quite sure the humiliation of that knowledge will be her undoing. He pauses as if sensing this his hand giving her ass a firm squeeze.

“I can smell you.” He says, not even smugly. “Your so wet, it's filthy.” He punctuates his statement by taking his right hand and running a finger along the center of her panties, pausing only to push down roughly on her clit through the fabric. He removes his finger and presents it to her. 

“Open.” 

She opens her mouth to deny it, really she has every intent, but the conscious part of her is so easy to push under when the omega in her is so incredibly needy. She embraces his finger with her tongue, her mouth closing around the digit and sucking greedily at her need. 

She feels his erection pulse beneath her belly and she moans squirming against him desperate for him to touch her once again. His left hand is massaging her ass and he wonders if he's doing it to keep himself grounded as she sucks his finger clean of her juices.

His left hand comes down on her ass so hard her vision blurs automatically. The omega in her whimpers and the words come spilling out of her quite brokenly. “W-what did I do?”

He smiles, moving his right hand, now discarded from her mouth, to cup her right breast hungrily, two fingers pulling the taut nipple as his left hand lands squarely on the center of her bottom.   
“What did I do sir.” He reminds her none to gently, his hand slapping her bottom again, the same hand dipping beneath her panties to rub a finger teasingly over her slit.

She gasps at the contact and writhes against the finger helplessly, but as soon as it was there it was gone, and the tears are no longer blurring her vision but running down her face. Desperate.

“What did I do...” she pants out, her voice a stuttered sob “sir?” 

“I promised you a good cry Miss Hooper. I fully intend to give it.” His hand come down her again, the thrum of fire, pain, and than oh, the helpless feeling of want. Her body burns, flushed with need and she sticks her bum up farther into the air seeking the contact, desperate for more.

“Please. Please. Please. Sir. Sir I need..Need.” Its helpless and her brain is spinning with desire desperate to be sated, desperate to cum. 

He knows she's close, and he can smell it. Her arousal is so thick and he has yet to even push one digit inside of her. He loves how responsive he is but he's ready...he's ready to see the look on her face when she realizes what she's signed herself up for. He has to swallow back his own need as he feels like his erection is about to tear a hole in his trousers. It's been to long since he's indulged himself. Much to long.

“What do you need Miss Hooper. Articulate.” 

She's sobbing her body wracked with tears and she whimpers. “I need release. I need to get off, please sir. Please.”

“So proper.” he praises, dipping a finger into her sex, and she nearly comes right than at the unexpected intrusion. He pumps her throughily before adding another digit, and her heads wheeling and my god she's almost there- she's almost...her muscles spasm around his fingers and “Sherlock” much to Molly's immediate dismay slips out. So, instead of pushing her over the edge he retracts his fingers abruptly.

Her brain cant compute what has just happened and her body desperately grinds against the air, confusion, anger, and agony crash over her like a wave and she sobs. Ill never stop crying, she thinks, her body hot and flailing, all ability to communicate gone. I'm going to drown. The omega in her lets out a cry, loud and hurt and it even makes the alpha in Mycroft flinch. 

He's pleased with himself however, she responded as perfectly as he thought she would. Though, shes almost to sensitive. He muses. Shes unable to pick apart what I have done, or what she is in for. Hed find her dull if it wasn't the fact that she was just like a bared nerve, trembling in the elements of none other than him.

 

When he's satisfied that she's rode down the waves of her almost orgasm, he proceeds to do it again- build her up and up and up until she's there ready to release on his fingers, down his arm- exploding all over him and comping apart at the seems until he again, withdrawals his digits leaving her practically screaming in frustration.. She hadn't said his name this time, and it is much to his delight she is realizing what his pleasure actually is. 

“Please.” she babbles the third time he's built her up and denied her orgasm. “Please. Anything.” She babbles helplessly, her muscles tensing around his fingers. “Anything, Anything. Please. Sir. Sir!”

“You know why you aren't a goldfish Molly?” He says leaning forward to scrape his teeth over the nape of her neck. She arches her neck giving him access, her submission- and he smirks against her skin, leaning over to speak directly into her ear, his fingers still knuckle deep inside of her, curling over that sensitive spot and she's mewing, sob-fully pleading for more as he talks. “You're a bitch. A sweet little bitch always on the brink of being thrown into heat. Ready to take whatever any Alpha will give you. Your cunt is so desperate isn't it,? Wordlessly begging for a knot.”

She howls, literally arches her back and moans the highest most delicious most frustrated sound he ever heard come out of a woman. 

He licks his lips, sweat has begun to build at his brow and rolls down his face in thin little streams. His body temperature has increased fifty folds and he is a hair string away from spilling his seed in his in his trousers. His knot is formed at the base of his cock and the frustration has become blinding. 

“Take me out.” He manages to spit out. “Take my dick out.”

The profanity makes her tighten around his fingers involuntarily and with shaky hands she manages to do so, and by no prompting of his own- she takes him into her lips.

Shit.

He throws his head back against the back of the couch with a loud bang and pushes down hard on her clit allowing her to finally cum at the same time the first spurt of his semen lands in the back of her throat. She sucks him down hungrily through her release, and he can feel the faint tears of hers landing softly against his balls.

“You must be careful Miss Hooper, I could have very well knotted in your throat.” and finds himself smiling as she releases his cock with a soft pop, semen very subtly staining her lips. Her eyes are glazed over as she looks at him, faint tear tracks staining her cheeks. She looks beautiful, in her own way, exhausted and completely sated.

“You need water.” he says calmly, but she does not move. She is elsewhere, somewhere far away. Subspace. He muses, tucking a piece of her loose brown hair behind her ear. The alpha in him roars at him for not taking better care of her but it is an urge Mycroft is quite capable of suppressing. 

It doesn't however stop him from leaving her a bottle of water on the end table next to the couch before he leaves.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...yeah this little bit of crack kind of happened in this transitioning chapter.  
> I'm not very good at adding something, uhm, comical. But well, I laughed writing it.   
> So I suppose there is that. 
> 
> Also. Since I'm sure someone will bring this up at some point.  
> I think Mycroft Holmes mind is much more extensive than Sherlock's.  
> I think he's able not only to see everything he does, but is able to retain trivial things, if only to get his way in the end.  
> [Or antagonize his little brother]  
> Some of you may disagree. That is fine.  
> But I adore him. 
> 
> Anyways onward to some Sherlolly yea?

Chapter 3

 

The sun is just peaking through the window, casting shadows across her kitchen counter when Molly begins to stir. The awakening is not gradual though, as it feels as if she is slammed back into her body, her body jolting up on the couch, eyes wide. Her throat is dry and her head is throbbing, and if she were to run her tongue across her bottom lip she would find she would be able to still taste reminisces of Mycroft Holmes.

 

She sits up and reaches towards the water bottle, she doesn't remember getting and gulps greedily as the cool liquid quenches her thirst and eases an underlying ache, she wasn't aware she was feeling.

 

It is than Toby mewls to greet her, rubbing against her ankles eagerly. She frowns as she scratches his head lovingly.

 

“I'm sorry Toby.” she says rising to a stand as she strips herself of her damp panties, and scurries to her room for her robe. “You made yourself scarce last night during all that didn't you...I didn't even feed you dinner...”

 

Toby meows in agreement, following her around eagerly as Molly makes her way to the kitchen to feed him. It was like almost like yesterday had been a dream, she thought as she dumped Toby's cat food into his bowl before making her way to the bathroom to shower. Her flat was as it always was besides her discarded clothes and the traces of Mycroft scent drifting through the apartment.

 

It's the best one off she can ever remember having. She cant remember the last time she's felt so light like walking air almost, something bone deep and primitive, dark and emotional had been satisfied last night. She hoped, when the time came, he would be willing to assist her again, that is, if she ever could find the nerve to seek him out and ask him.

 

She runs her fingers over the raised flesh of her arm and she gently massages the beta soap into her skin. She doesn't notice that she is in fact humming as her thoughts turn to having a flat to beta-rize, and a job to attend to and so the pleasures of last night are placed on the back burner of her brain to think about at a later time.

 

.

 

 

“Molly, I need to see the body of-”

 

And he stops. The scent is so overwhelming that it temporary freezes the entirety of his brain, until he's certain the alpha gland inside his head is the only think working. It's faint, very faint, but it causes his lips to pull back exposing his teeth in a silent snarl. The scent of chemicals, and cinnamon, and spices and weak, very weak beta- Molly smells like something else. He can smell traces of Alpha on her and it _infuriates_ him.

 

Molly has never once dated an alpha. No, she only dated betas. Once, an omega- no, the only alpha she had ever fawned over was him. _That_ was how it should be.

 

Sherlock didn't necessarily think Molly unfit because she wasn't an omega- no Sherlock was above most of those things- it's just her biology simply wouldn't accommodate his knot comfortably. Let alone what being with a person like him would do to her with his...preferences. His desire for knowledge and danger was much more important than finding a mate. He had resigned himself to losing Molly's affection, wishing her all the happiness because she did in fact deserve it. However, the scent of another alpha on her made him want to grasp her by the throat and sink his teeth into the skin above her clavicle..

 

_Oh._ They had been talking to him. He breifly glances to his side as he notices Johns exasperation, and than to Molly- who had just put on a new pair of gloves, apparently.

 

.Right. The body.

 

“Grey.” He says suddenly, locking his eyes on her. _Who? What Alpha were you with?_ But for once he cant seem to trust his senses because he thinks maybe, just maybe he can smell omega on her too. His frown deepens. _Why would both scents be invading her space so...intimately?_

 

“Grey?” She repeats dumbfounded, clearly there isn't anyone here in the morgue by that name. _But than, wait why would Mycroft?_

 

“Christian.” He repeats, a fury already in his step as he moves to the side, hand in his hair. _Why would Mycroft?_ “Christian Grey.”

 

He hears it. But its almost as if its in slow motion, Johns cough, sputter and wheeze of a laugh. Molly's intake of breath. A realization. So. It _is_ a reference, damn Mycroft with his ability to not only deduce things better than him, but to be able to pull out random pop culture references or _whatever_ to humiliate _?_ Yes _humiliate_ him.

 

“What?” He says angrily. “Out with it John!”

 

And at least Molly has the decency to stop laughing, though there are faint tears in her eyes at her suppressed laughter, and Johns amusement runs down his face between breathless laughter.

 

“Your...brother” John wheezes, wiping the strays tears off with the back of his hand. “Oh, who would have thought Mycroft had it in him?” Another burst of laughter before he abruptly clears his throat. “Sorry...sorry...” and awkward clear of the throat and John is semi composed and Sherlock is positively livid. “He's a character in some erotic novel. A trilogy actually Mary...”

 

“Oh shut up John, no one needs to know what's kept Mary in your bed almost every day for the last month.” Sherlock snaps and John looks put out for a second, and Molly's scent is icing on the metaphorical cake.

 

“Was it Greg?” Sherlock snaps suddenly, and both Molly's and Johns jaw seem to drop to the floor.

 

“ _What?”_ Molly says at the same time John says “ _Are you talking about Lestrade?”_

 

“Yes.” Sherlock hisses separating the gap between Molly and himself, anger fueled in every step and she shivers underneath his dominance. Good. He thinks despite himself, and his cognitive brain tells him to focus on whats important.

 

Mycroft wanted him here obviously to scent Molly. But what does Molly have to do with anything? Especially when _Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock._

 

“Were you with Lestrade last night? I smell..” He pauses swallowing the knot in his throat as he reigns himself in, just enough. “alpha on you. You don't date alphas. Your biology simply doesn't make it possible for you to have a relationship with one Molly. I suggest you don't fall for his wiles, look how well its worked out for his wife.”

 

The hand that slaps his face is deserved, but not exactly expected.

 

Sherlock winces and so does John besides him. He turns to eye his best mate, and his eyes say it all. _Not good._

 

“It isn't any business of yours whom I do what with Sherlock Holmes.” And she says his name like she's spitting a curse word. “Just because you're afraid to knot someone doesn't mean...”

 

The words hang heavy in the air and John takes a step back as he stares at Molly a look between alarm and fascination. Even John hadn't mentioned Sherlock being an alpha, no one did, as he preferred to keep that primitive part of himself locked up somewhere deep inside his mind palace. No one talked about Sherlock that way, and in general, knotting in itself wasnt _openly_ discussed outside of healthcare and the occasional pornography.

 

“I...” The anger and desire hit him like a punch in the jaw and he turns on his heel, fuming his coat flapping behind him.

 

“He uhm...” John said looking from the floor to Molly. “He does love the dramatics doesn't he?”

 

Molly pauses offering a weak smile. “Best go after him yeah?”

 

“Yeah...” John says pausing to look at her. “Molly...I think it's great if you are...if you've.. god this awkward.”

 

She laughs weakly before shaking his head. “It's fine. It's not like that really.” She says a light blush staining her face as she looks down at the body of the former Miss Capone in front of her. She picks up her scalpel to resume poking at the stomach hoping for a distraction from the awkwardness of Johns attempted politeness “He's just a... a friend...well, at least... _I ..._ assume he's a friend. It's nothing.”

 

“Alright than.” He clears throat, rocking back on his heels. “Until next time Molly.”

 

“Til next time.” She says softly, and it isn't until she's exploring the intestines of the body before her, does she burst into a fit of hysterical giggles.

 

“Christian Grey...my god.”

 

.

 

Sherlock hadn't found it terribly hard to go against his _primitive_ nature [Most days, and after he surpassed adolescence anyway.] It was easy really after that, the thrill of the hunt- the serial killers and the occasional intelligent sociopath. He had the occasional jolt of arousal [The woman] and the occasional yearning to rut,knot, and heaven forbid _bond_ [Molly, always Molly, not that he'll ever admit that, no.] But generally speaking his alpha gland was more like an itch he was convinced he could not scratch.

 

He had no idea how his brother managed to kill his boredom however, let alone his _needs_ when they struck, let alone behind a desk [even with puppeteering the British government as he so often does]

 

Mycroft had always been able to seemingly suppress his desires. In fact Sherlock would have thought he didn't have the alpha gland at all if it wasn't for that half of a handful of memories he has.

 

He _can remember locking himself in a bathroom when his cousin had gone into a spontaneous heat at a family wedding. He had been only 13. He had thrown his head against the stall door in disgust as his body had writhed to fill the girls ache, familiarity be damned._

 

_It isn't until sometime later that Mycroft leans against the damn door._

 

_“She's gone. Though I wouldn't want to come out after reacting to my cousins heat either.”_

 

_“How?” Sherlock had whined. “How do you always manage to not feel anything?”_

 

_“How indeed.” Mycroft says “It isn't beneficial to feel anything Sherlock, and that is all that matters.”_

 

_“You aren't human.” Sherlock spits, frustration clouding his blue eyes, and he's so grateful for the bathroom door between them._

 

_“No.” Mycroft says completely calm “I'm just not an animal.”_

 

The memory guts him now as he rubs the bridge of his nose.

 

“I'm not an animal.” he tells himself as he closes his eyes and thinks of Molly and the scents that lingered around hers. “I'm not an animal.” he continues like an mantra, like a prayer, Molly's face flickering behind his tightly closed lids.

 

The only problem with the thought is Molly Hooper, does in fact,make him feel like an animal. 

**Author's Note:**

> Smut comes next, I promise. :)   
> I hope you enjoyed and thanks for sticking it out until the end of the chapter.  
> I hope to see you at the end of the next one.


End file.
